"
"But he was with him,--that night at the saloon," ventured Miss Lady,
sitting up very straight and listening very intently.
Gerald smiled skeptically. "He went in out of the rain, my dear lady;
that's what he wrote home, I understand; and he didn't indulge in a
single drink. Rather a strain on the imagination in the light of
subsequent events."
"See here, Ivy," said Decker, rising and standing before the fire with
his square jaw thrust out, and the twinkle gone from his eye. "I
happen to know this story from beginning to end, and we both know Don
Morley. He's as full of faults as a porcupine is of quills, but he's
neither a liar nor a coward. If he says he was sober that night I'd
stake my life he was."
There was an uncomfortable pause during which Gerald tenderly felt his
afflicted face, and Decker glared at the chandelier.
"He ought to have stayed to explain," said Miss Lady, not daring to
look up; "a man's first duty is to himself and--and to those who care
for him."
"That was the trouble," said Decker slowly. "It seems that the one
person Don cared most about wouldn't listen to an explanation. He
wrote her full particulars, and asked her to telegraph him if he
should go or stay.
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